


Red Sun Rising

by Octobig



Series: Heart of Steel [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/F, Oral Sex, Slight D/s tones if you squint, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, spoilers for up until The Final Piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octobig/pseuds/Octobig
Summary: “I’m yours,” Evelyn says next, almost bashfully, hands balling into fists but unmoving beneath Cassandra’s fingers. Her body surges up and forward a bit, pressing back into Cassandra’s unyielding stance.“I surrender,” she whispers, and then all the tension leaves her completely.It does something very unexpected and new to Cassandra, having the most powerful woman in all of Thedas at her mercy.[Or alternatively: in which the Inquisitor feels anxious and insecure, and Cassandra fights her over it.]





	Red Sun Rising

The witch has receded back into the shadows of the garden, a perpetual frown drawing her dark brows together and her purple-painted lips into a scowl. There is something snappish about her aura, as if she were a wild animal poised and ready to sink its teeth and claws into whoever had the gall to approach.

(Leliana makes a vague allusion about spiders, and Cassandra stops the conversation right there.)

Even her son hasn’t been able to soothe her mood today. Perhaps especially not her son.

The last week has been a dazzling whirlwind from which even Cassandra has barely recovered.

First came the Arbor Wilds, with their oddly oppressive heat and labyrinth-like paths. Where they had to battle themselves a way through the thick lushness of the forest in direct competition with Corypheus’ forces to reach the Eluvian first.

Cassandra still vividly recalls every plant, vine, and Red Templar body her sword cut through; feels the eyes of the Sentinels upon her as if the very walls of Skyhold bear them within the stone. Even Solas had gotten on her nerves while they pushed on, despite the fact that she might have found his comments on ancient Arlathan – and elves in general – interesting at any other point in time.

But not then.

Not when the Temple of Mythal had turned out to have been quite a real thing.

Not when the Well of Sorrows had turned out to be the cumulative spirit of servants of Mythal going back through the ages. Not when it had a will and a mind – several, even – of its own.

And Samson had been there, too; she’d almost forgotten about Corypheus’ lieutenant, severely weakened by the rune that Dagna had crafted to counter the crackling energy of his red lyrium armor. Cullen had found it especially difficult to stand against his former friend and colleague, despite the fact that so many issues had already driven a wedge between them – and the Templar Order – years ago.

Cassandra places a palm over her face and sighs, closing her eyes against the harsh glare of the sun climbing overhead. It bears a red aura, like blood.

 _Victory close at hand_ , she thinks, _though I barely understand all that happened next._

More Eluvians and a network of mirrors, outings into the Fade, the soul of something ancient and creeping inside that sweet, polite little boy. And then the knowledge that it was Mythal’s soul incarnate in the original Witch of the Wilds.

A crone of barbarian legend and hearsay. A tale told to frighten little children. An old woman living in a tiny cottage, hidden away in the depth of those wild landscapes – Flemeth, once mother to Morrigan, and implicitly the grandmother of that same sweet boy.

Flemeth, who had even aided the Champion of Kirkwall once according to Varric.

(Cassandra had merely snorted the first time they had reached that part of _The Champion’s Tale_. She feels very differently about it now.)

For someone as fiercely independent as Morrigan, nothing must be more terrifying than being bound to a horrendously powerful creature that she once knew as her mother – and hated her for it.

It’s not surprising that she’s taking it hard, retreating into the gardens as she is.

The Inquisitor had commanded every single member of their inner circle to take a break at this point; to take advantage of this brief, quiet moment before the storm. To clear their heads and to spend time with their loved ones.

Before they make their way out of the mountains and into the Valley of Sacred Ashes to kill Corypheus.

Cassandra tries not to think too hard about who might not be marching back to Skyhold’s safety. It gives her a certain sense of smallness; a lack of control of the greater things in life that she’s not used to and not particularly fond of, either.

She hates feeling tiny, and yet there is a tremor to her sword-arm that says, _you could not save Anthony_. Luckily, her mind has a ready answer: _I was but a child then, and I am a warrior now._

Anyone who will want the Inquisitor will have to go through Cassandra first.

Including, Maker help her, Mythal.

Shaking her head of its heavy thoughts, Cassandra mindlessly lets her gaze travel over Skyhold’s courtyard. She’s on the ramparts, having started her walk near the garden – where she spied an angry Morrigan that initially sparked this particular line of thinking – and is now slowly coming around to _The Herald’s Rest_.

It’s quiet in Skyhold; the sun has just reached its highest point, its rays surprisingly hard in the cloudless blue sky. Most people are either preparing for war, or distracting themselves from it, and even the guard rotations on the walls are less frequent.

As always, the musical notes of song and dance and the clink of mugs overflowing with mead flows up from the tavern. Cassandra thinks she hears Varric’s voice beneath the wind and the rumble of it, telling another wide-eyed tale of adventure and imagination.

Keeping his own mind off of things while distracting others. The dwarf _would_ be clever like that.

She hears a low, angry grunt then, breaking her from her reverie.

It’s below her, in Cassandra’s own usual spot near the training dummies, and she peers over the edge of the stone battlements to have a better look.

The Inquisitor appears into Cassandra’s line of sight, daggers held tight and face grim, alternating between parrying them and slashing them at the slightly abused dummy before her.

Her footwork is light and quick, the twists and bends of her wrists smooth and certain, and when she does a neat little trick with a dagger throw-and-spin, Cassandra can only admire just how much elegance and grace there is in her style.

Not to mention that her feats with a bow are just as, if not more, impressive. Even Sera says so.

Cassandra also sees the woman she loves, and that person is fighting a losing battle.

The lines in her face are just a little too tense, the angles of her body too tight. Combined with the dark circles under her eyes and the grim reality in her too-bright eyes, it is easy to see that she’s anxious.

Cassandra slowly makes her way down, giving Evelyn more than enough time to notice her.

She does, finishing up a routine once Cassandra reaches the bottom of the stairs, wiping the sweat off of her brow with one hand. She’s wearing a simple, sleeveless linen shirt, her breastband visible through the wide gaps where her arms slide through.

“Cass,” she says in greeting, her breath heavy from physical exertion.

Cassandra allows herself a small smile as she cants her head into the Inquisitor’s direction. “Evelyn,” she answers, one hand on her hip.

“Gotta keep practicing,” Evelyn says, a grimace on her face that is an unintended mockery of her usual charming grin. “Can’t let my guard down.”

“Oh,” Cassandra says, eyeing Evelyn suspiciously while she crosses her arms. “Is that all, truly?” she opts to ask rather than to play along with the Inquisitor’s charade.

Evelyn blinks twice in quick succession. “You’re usually not _this_ direct,” she comments a little dryly, brushing the dirt off of her high boots.

“We are not usually fighting an ancient magister and a red Templar army,” Cassandra answers, more biting than she’d intended. “And I do believe I _am_ usually this direct.”

Evelyn huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, but says nothing.

Cassandra slides her hand to the hilt of the weapon at her hip. “If you wish to work it out physically rather than discussing it…” She trails off before drawing her sword from its sheath. “We could always spar.”

Now there is a hint of a true smile on Evelyn’s face, lopsided and warm.

“Really?” she half-laughs, shaking her head as she regards Cassandra’s sword. “Just like that? No blunt weapons?”

Cassandra shrugs. “There is nothing blunt about the battle we are about to face.” She pauses, taking a strong, defensive stance while holding her sword with two hands. No shields this time.

“Besides,” she adds with a nod, “I trust you.”

With a twirl and a flick, Evelyn easily flips her daggers from one hand to the other, making them switch places. Cassandra has gathered from the late-night conversations between her and the Iron Bull that Evelyn picked up the throwing knife game in Kirkwall, taking instructions from some of the best duelists who stayed around _The Hanged Man_.

She always did think it was a little odd that the youngest daughter of a respected noble family in the Free Marchers was so devastatingly good with daggers and knives.

Evelyn nods back. “Fine,” she says. “I don’t even care if you’ll hurt me, regardless of trust.”

That attitude makes anger prickle at the back of Cassandra’s neck. “You had better give it your all,” she says sharply, narrowing her eyes.

Her lover smirks, but there is no mirth in it. “Make me,” she dares.

Cassandra considers it.

The angry, slightly defeatist attitude, and the tension in her frame. The battles before, and the battles yet to come. The weight, always the weight – _lead them or fall._

If this is what Evelyn needs, she will provide it.

With a grunt and half a battle yell, Cassandra goes on the offensive. Her sword arcs in a broad sweep towards Evelyn, more of a baiting move than anything else, and off they go.

It’s quick and fast, not unlike a dance.

( _Is it,_ Cassandra wonders, _is this what I’ve been missing out on?_ )

Evelyn is well aware of Cassandra’s strengths; the way she combines defensive stances that are almost impossible to break with aggressive, pushy charges and blocks. Evelyn knows exactly when to duck, when to parry, and when not to push too hard. Her agility and nimble feet are a beautiful counterweight to the stalwart way in which Cassandra usually approaches battle.

They step into the open spaces of each other’s stances and parries time and time again, one moving up to fill the shadow left behind by the other. It’s a delicate balance, but it works out – their sparring so swift that it almost seems as if they rehearsed this.

Each sweep of metal past delicate flesh and each clash of dagger and sword lets the thread between them pull tauter. As satisfying as it is, stepping into the rhythm of each other, both Cassandra and Evelyn are looking for an opportunity.

For a falter in the other; for the moment when they can tip the scales in their own favor.

Cassandra’s sword sings as it flies just past Evelyn’s face, and Evelyn’s daggers hum when they sheer past Cassandra’s throat. But both touch nothing except for air, and there is no winner as of yet.

“You know,” Evelyn quips as if they aren’t fighting each other at all, “we could keep this up for hours.” She easily dodges another sharp jab. “And then we’re both tired and cranky, and there’s still no winner. So why don’t we just – ”

Cassandra pushes harder, breaking through Evelyn’s defense. “If you wish to talk, do so with your weapons.”

Evelyn staggers back, but the certainty of her step is not lost. “Why do you always get like this?” she half-sighs, ducking and making a roll away from the wall Cassandra was slowly backing her up against.

“Because you do not wish to talk about it,” Cassandra says, breath a tad heavy – it’s her turn to block, now with her back moving towards the wall. “So I must look for other ways to pull it out of you.”

Evelyn grits her teeth, going on the attack; a wild flurry of metal. “Pull _what_?”

“The weight,” Cassandra counters, both with sword and with her voice, “the burden resting upon your shoulders.”

Evelyn’s face darkens, almost pulling into a snarl. “It’s mine to bear, not yours,” she says, something venomous creeping into her tone. She dances in and out of Cassandra’s reach, slipping below her sword, and she’s close, too close –

_Tipping point._

The point of her dagger grazes Cassandra’s right cheekbone; light and almost unassuming, but it does draw blood.

A thin line; a surgeon’s cut, precise and controlled.

Cassandra slams the pommel of her sword into Evelyn’s wrist hard enough to bruise, and with a wince, the Inquisitor drops the dagger in her off-hand to the ground. It’s a bit of a dirty trick, but Cassandra has always known it to work.

“Sneaky,” Evelyn says, eyes narrowed.

Cassandra drops her sword unexpectedly and grabs Evelyn’s bruised wrist in hers; turns on her feet, and slams Evelyn into the stone wall. She hears the hitch of breath as her lover staggers back, the tremor of movement already in the way her back arches, in the way her lips are drawn into a thin line –

But Cassandra pushes, _harder_ , until she is pressing Evelyn into the wall with all of her weight.

There was a gap, a chance to escape, but Evelyn didn’t take it despite her body’s readiness for it. Despite her muscles tightening and sparkling with energy, ready to counter and roll away.

Cassandra presses her bruised wrist against the wall, next to her head, and forces her other hand over Evelyn’s other wrist. The dagger drops to the grass even before she puts on any real pressure.

“Yield,” she commands.

Evelyn’s eyes are hard and angry. “You’re playing a dirty game, Seeker.”

Cassandra snorts, crowding Evelyn further up the wall. “You are the one who surrendered the instant you were cornered.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows draw together. “You know damn well why,” she says, voice biting.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Cassandra asks, the question quiet but demanding.

Evelyn’s body goes slack against hers, suddenly, pressed between unyielding stone and Cassandra’s just as unyielding spirit and stance. The hardness slips from her eyes, and she looks down. Down between them at the daggers on the grass, and her fingers twitch in Cassandra’s grasp as if the echo of their fight still lingers in them.

“It’s too much,” she says, voice breaking. “It’s too much, Cass.”

Cassandra softens her grip. “You can tell me,” she answers, voice hoarse. “Share these worries with me.”

Evelyn looks back up, and there are tears in her eyes. “What if I fail?” she says, a desperate tone to her voice. “What if I lead all these brave people to ruin?”

Her head tips forward against Cassandra’s, voice drowning in tears. “What if I can’t do it,” she whispers, lips trembling, “what if I’m the sham the Chantry said I would be?”

“You are not,” Cassandra says sternly, “and you will never be. There is no woman I would be prouder to fight beside in this battle than you.”

Evelyn’s smile is small and wavering. “You are kind, but – ”

Cassandra re-fastens her grip on Evelyn’s wrists, lifting them above her head and pressing them to the wall there, higher against the grey stone. Evelyn looks shocked, blinking fast between the tears still clinging to her lashes, body arching up onto her toes to ease the pull on her wrists.

“No,” Cassandra says, “you will do it. You will lead us to victory.”

A soft gasp in response. “Cass, I can’t – ”

“You _can_ ,” Cassandra says, thumbs pressing into Evelyn’s palms. “For them, you can do it. Be their leader.”

Evelyn’s mouth is still half-open, and she’s staring at Cassandra with a strange mix of disbelief, surprise, and discomfort on her face. She doesn’t even struggle in Cassandra’s hold; she merely accommodates it, leaning into her without a second thought.

“For me,” Cassandra says then, “you do not have to be like this. You may always yield, no questions asked.”

Evelyn’s face blanches.

They are so close.

That thread between them; the give and take is gone. The gaps have disappeared. It is inevitable now, how strongly pulled together they are, no more empty spaces between them. Filled by the presence of both of their bodies, held in place by the intense way in which they are gazing into each other’s eyes.

“I think I already did,” Evelyn answers, her voice fluttery and breathless, “but I – I… ”

She looks off to the side again, then, lashes sweeping over her flushed cheeks and _Maker,_ she’s beautiful.

“I’m yours,” she says next, almost bashfully, hands balling into fists but unmoving beneath Cassandra’s fingers. Her body surges up and forward a bit, pressing back into Cassandra’s unyielding stance.

“I surrender,” she whispers, and then all the tension leaves her completely.

It does something very unexpected and new to Cassandra.

She has the most powerful woman in all of Thedas at her mercy.

Cassandra realizes that if she would step away from the wall and loosen her grip on Evelyn’s wrists, the other woman would buckle to the floor. No resistance.

_I don’t even care if you’ll hurt me._

_Besides, I trust you._

“I accept your surrender,” Cassandra murmurs softly, letting go of one of Evelyn’s hands – which drops to her side immediately – so she can stroke across her lover’s cheek. “I think you deserve being taken care of.”

Evelyn leans into the touch. “Anything you want,” she says, “anything – ”

Her voice is cut short by Cassandra’s mouth, strong and insistent.

Now Evelyn comes back to life, her free hand coming back up to cup Cassandra’s cheek, and her mouth just as desperate as Cassandra’s own. But she still doesn’t move her other hand, not even the slightest of inches; she just lets it rest where it’s being pressed, cradled beneath Cassandra’s fingers against the stone.

Cassandra finds that though passion can be soft and sweet and wonderfully blooming, there is some sort of ignition to it that burns the same way battle flares inside her body. How she goes through life like she’s a weapon, pushing and slashing and fighting her way through with strong opinions and deadly glares.

Evelyn has always been able to take whatever Cassandra has dished out.

Be it sparring, opinions, slightly snide comments or sparse commands. And Cassandra was never too much, or never too brash, whenever it came to the Inquisitor. There was always space for an edge.

And this… this is the unexpected thing. Because that thought heats her blood and makes her press even _harder_ , until Evelyn is whimpering under her; that makes her choose not to kiss Evelyn deeply and profoundly rather than a gentle sweep of tongue and lips. Her lover makes another shocked but pleased noise below her, opening up without question.

She has Evelyn’s shapely legs around her waist in an instant, their breaths mingling into Cassandra’s bruising kisses; and there is a profound difference to last time, because Cassandra realizes that she is leading this one.

She is determining their course, and Evelyn goes along with it. Trusts Cassandra to know what they both want. That trust is inspiring, and makes Cassandra feel confident and comfortable enough to take the leap.

“Evelyn,” she says softly, lips brushing her lover’s.

Evelyn’s face is soft and reverent as she looks up at Cassandra, breath and body taken, no room for anything else. There are still tears on her face and sweat on her brow, her lips already glowing under Cassandra’s kisses.

Cassandra realizes it then.

_I want to take her, and she wishes to be taken._

Even thinking it makes her feel that somewhere it should be scandalous, that she should feel ashamed or bashful – but the thought of how pretty Evelyn looks and how desperate they both are for this turns that hesitancy away.

“Shall we take this inside?” Cassandra asks instead, head jerking towards the armory.

Evelyn nods eagerly, chin tipping down. “Your room,” she half-sighs, her ankles crossed behind Cassandra’s lower back and her arms now both draped across Cassandra’s shoulders.

It’s not the Inquisitor’s weight in her arms that bothers her when she walks both of them to the armory, kicking the door open with her foot – rather, it’s all the little things that make Cassandra’s step falter and wobble as she attempts to climb the stairs.

How Evelyn makes small, needy little noises against her mouth; the way her legs wrap a little tighter around Cassandra’s waist as she tries to rock her hips into Cassandra’s. How her hands never stop touching Cassandra’s hair, cheek and jaw, even as Cassandra dumps her rather unceremoniously on her cot in the back.

“Can I undress?” Evelyn stammers, one hand sliding down from around the back of Cassandra’s neck to the hem of her shirt.

Cassandra presses forward between her lover’s spread legs, undoing her own belt and letting it clang to the floor. “Yes,” she answers into Evelyn’s neck, sucking harshly at the skin below her ear.

It needles, briefly, as she thinks about how it might leave a mark that’ll need to be covered up, but then –

 _Maker take propriety_ , she thinks as Evelyn lets out a throaty moan, fingers shaking, _if she’s enjoying it, I do not care._

Cassandra kicks off her boots and slips her own shirt over her head while Evelyn wiggles out of her pants, shirt already discarded to the floor. She looks so eager and so flushed; so ready to let go.

She trembles as Cassandra leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to her lover’s sternum before sliding her hands under her simple breastband, pushing it out of the way as she does so.

She didn’t get a chance to do this last time – to properly admire Evelyn’s breasts, to watch her lover’s reaction as she kneads and kisses them. Evelyn’s skin is gleaming and she’s already leaning back into the mattress, arching herself up to Cassandra’s mouth.

Cassandra also didn’t say it last time; what a squandering of an opportunity.

“You are beautiful,” she declares, pressing a trail of kisses down from Evelyn’s throat to her collarbone, all the way back to that soft space between her breasts. There’s freckles and scars and unevenness to her skin, but as Cassandra smooths her hands over Evelyn’s shoulders, all she can think is –

_Strong. Powerful. There is divinity in here, in my lover’s skin._

Evelyn murmurs a soft ‘thank you’ below her breath, her fingers on Cassandra’s scalp.

“This is not weird, is it?” she asks quietly, her voice a little hesitant. “What happened earlier, what I said…”

Cassandra looks up, her chin brushing the underside of one of Evelyn’s breasts. Her lover’s face is flushed still, and she looks shy, unknowing.

“No,” Cassandra answers sternly, “and if it is, world be damned. This is for _you_ , because you are my leader.”

She reaches out for Evelyn’s hand; the one whose wrist she bruised earlier, and twines their fingers together.

“My lover,” Cassandra continues, “my friend.”

Evelyn leans back into the pillows, a small smile blooming on her face as she squeezes her fingers around Cassandra’s. “Thank you, Cass.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow, leaning a little closer. “You keep thanking me,” she says, “and yet we have not even started.”

Evelyn tilts her head a little, smile growing. “Is this my cue to shut up, Seeker?”

“It is,” Cassandra says resolutely, bending her head and pressing a kiss to Evelyn’s breast.

“Ah, r-right,” Evelyn still manages, leaning back fully now, her legs coming up to bracket Cassandra’s hips. “I can take a simple order like that.”

Cassandra smiles, kissing a circle around one of her nipples. “Do not silence yourself otherwise,” she whispers, letting her breath fan out over her lover’s sensitive skin. “I wish to hear you.”

When Evelyn just raises a trembling hand in a thumbs-up gesture, Cassandra snorts and decides she’s had enough fun quipping with Evelyn for the day.

She slips her hands underneath Evelyn’s breasts, lifting them up towards her mouth; flicks her tongue over both her nipples in quick succession, and that earns her a shaky gasp and two crossed ankles behind her back.

Cassandra finds that she can’t have enough.

There’s something so immensely satisfying about the softness of Evelyn’s breasts, surrounded by firm muscle and strength; the way they mold to the shape of her palms, the way her nipples harden under her teeth and her tongue.

She wishes she could be everywhere at once, with her mouth and her fingers.

So she just smooths her thumbs over the soft undersides, and flicks the tips of her calloused fingers over the peaks of her breasts. Such sensitive, small little buds, and Cassandra cannot help but to eagerly suck one into her mouth again. Swirls her tongue around it, and lets the edge of her teeth slip over it.

Evelyn is grinding against her in earnest now, her breath shallow and aflutter.

“Cassandra,” she gasps, one hand at the back of Cassandra’s head.

Cassandra shifts up onto her knees, wrapping one arm around Evelyn’s back and lifting her up against her. She feels her lover’s legs tighten even more around her waist, her shoulders and upper back still resting against the pillows.

As she looks down along the lines of her body, to her mouth half-open, her hair fanned out over Cassandra’s pillows and her hips stuttering against Cassandra’s own, Cassandra finds herself fervently wishing that these were the types of drawings she’d seen back when she was growing up.

Back when she snuck into the library as a youth, peeking at all the smutty books that were all about manly knights and captains and dashing rogues coming after eager maidens.

Never this – never your lover before you, spread out like a private gift, breasts wet with kisses, mouth begging for more.

 _I have been missing out_ , Cassandra thinks, _for never considering the sheer beauty of this._

“You’re looking at me like you want to eat me,” Evelyn says, breathless and hopeful.

“I will,” Cassandra immediately answers, and Evelyn’s eyes widen as Cassandra lifts her higher, both arms slipping underneath her lower back.

“Oh,” she says, almost astonished as Cassandra straightens and pulls her body closer towards her mouth, gently directing her legs to slip over her shoulders. “You’re gonna – like that. Okay.”

Cassandra raises an eyebrow, drawing a finger over Evelyn’s belly. “Is something the matter?”

Red colors her cheeks. “No,” she says decidedly, back from where her head is still perched upon the pillows, “nope, nothing. It’s just – I’ve always…” she trails off, grinning a little sheepishly. “You’re just really strong. That’s – that’s all.”

Cassandra keeps her eyebrow raised, already growing amused. Evelyn looks almost bashful, biting her bottom lip and trying not to look away. She shrugs her shoulders underneath Cassandra’s gaze as best as she can.

“What? It’s very handsome.”

It makes Cassandra grin.

“I _have_ been noticing a trend, Inquisitor,” she teases, nuzzling below Evelyn’s belly button.

Evelyn covers her face with one palm. “If the trend involves you ripping off my shirt, pressing me against the wall, and casually lifting me up in bed, then you’re on the right track.”

Cassandra can’t help but laugh into her lover’s belly, winding both of her arms tighter around her lower back. “… I am glad my strength is something good to you.”

Something passes between them in this pivotal moment; Cassandra notices in the slight tremble of her own voice, and the warmth reflected in Evelyn’s eyes. Their own perceived flaws and faults are something beautiful to the other. Something cherished, something wanted, rather than something to be insecure about.

And when Cassandra slides her face further down over her lover’s belly, mouthing kisses over Evelyn’s skin, and then lifts her up against her lips, she thinks –

_It does come in handy, being strong._

Especially as Evelyn cries out so hard at the first tentative brush of Cassandra’s tongue that the birds at the window fly off, disturbed by the sudden noise.

She’s wet and there’s so much of it, Cassandra almost drowns. And softness, again, so delicate down here; folds and folds of skin, hiding everything that Cassandra wants to taste more of. Wants to feel, desperately, against her lips and tongue.

She sighs into that heat, slipping her tongue in and over her lover, and Evelyn’s thighs quiver around her head. The taste of her is everything and nothing that Cassandra expected at the same time; a hint of musk, a slight bitterness that burns on her tongue, but she wants to drink it like it’s the sweetest spiced wine.

“Oh _Cassandra_ ,” Evelyn sighs, the name almost reverently spoken; pleaded, even.

Cassandra hums back, nosing at her skin, and dares a sharp flick of her tongue against her clit. Evelyn’s reaction is instantaneous, gathering fists full of the thin sheets beneath her, and she tips her hips upward without thought. Cassandra licks harder in response, sucking at her clit, and the next desperate swivel of Evelyn’s hips towards Cassandra’s mouth has Cassandra nearly mad with want.

She’s still wearing her pants, and they’re steadily starting to grow damp between her legs.

She gets it now, how much Evelyn loved doing this last time they were together.

Experimentally, she lets the edge of her teeth scrape lightly over Evelyn’s clit, her bottom lip pushing it up between her lips. Her lover shudders beneath the assault of her mouth, her legs trembling, and a creative string of Tevene curses slip out.

Cassandra feels a flare of pride.

Hollowing her cheeks, she sucks a little harder, her nose pressed against Evelyn’s mound. She can’t use her fingers to push them into Evelyn like this, but she hopes the strong pressure of her mouth is enough to take the edge off.

Evelyn lets out a shuddery breath, her eyes closed tight. “Maker, you’re good.”

Cassandra eases down a bit, curling her tongue around Evelyn’s clit. Back and forth, slowly settling into a rhythm, she flicks her tongue over her in broad, even strokes. The taste of her lover is overwhelming, and Cassandra finds she can’t stop herself from releasing a quiet, throaty moan into Evelyn’s wetness.

“Fuck me,” Evelyn begs then, head tipped back and throat exposed, “fuck me, Cass, _please_.”

Cassandra lowers her to the bed immediately, shuffling back and hooking her thumbs into her waistband. Evelyn stares at her, all hunger and bright flames, and the Mark on her left palm actually sparks a flash of green as their eyes meet.

Cassandra’s back on the bed in an instant once she’s dumped her clothing on the floor, her hands on Evelyn’s knees, pushing them further apart so she can settle between them.

“Give me your hand,” Evelyn says, motioning towards Cassandra’s right.

Not knowing what to expect, Cassandra reaches out, ready to twine them with her lover’s again – but Evelyn smiles and doesn’t take her hand just yet. It’s that sly, roguish kind of smile again that Cassandra’s grown so fond of lately.

Gingerly, she takes Cassandra’s hand in her own, caressing her fingers featherlight.

It has Cassandra on edge, the moment filled with tension and some sort of strange anticipation, and Evelyn brings Cassandra’s hand up to her mouth. Kisses her fingers, one by one, in a tender gesture.

But then that sly smile of hers grows, and she opens her mouth, the tips of two of Cassandra’s fingers resting on her bottom lip.

Their eyes locked, it is Cassandra’s turn to blink and falter under the intensity of it, the heat of her lover’s mouth so close and ready for the taking. Evelyn tips her head back a little, her breath a gust of molten heat.

“Go on,” she says very softly, “I’ll get them wet for you.”

Cassandra wants to say something smart, something witty, like Evelyn always does – things like, _weren’t you already about to do that with your other set of lips_ – but nothing comes out. She stares instead, transfixed.

Evelyn really has a beautiful mouth.

Cassandra moves her fingers minutely. Her bottom lip is plump and generously curved, sticking out invitingly. And her upper lip has a tantalizing, curvy line that would make anyone jealous. And _Maker_ , they’re full and pliant and _wet_ –

“You’re certainly taking your time,” Evelyn teases.

Cassandra knows her cheeks flare red. “You have a beautiful mouth,” she admits.

Evelyn gives her a look that tells her that she knew – or at least knew that Cassandra’s so fond of it.

Cassandra sighs, rolls her eyes, and then presses her fingers in gently, stopping her lover from saying anything about the whole damned situation. From the heated look Evelyn gives her before tilting her head back and closing her eyes, Cassandra gathers that she did the right thing.

But then Evelyn’s tongue slowly curling around Cassandra’s fingertips on a quiet, keening sound, and all coherent thought comes to a halt. All there is left is soft heat and slickness that she wants to sink into and never let go of.

When she pushes her fingers back against the press of Evelyn’s tongue, Evelyn moans and sucks on them, her tongue swiping in-between them to get them wet properly. It’s intoxicating, and before slipping them out, Cassandra presses them a little deeper just because she can, and feels Evelyn’s trembling knees dig into her hips in response.

Evelyn already looks thoroughly done for, mouth plump and red while Cassandra leans back, thumb brushing between her lover’s folds. Already so wet from her own arousal and Cassandra’s mouth, it’s easy to slide two of her fingers into her; slow, deep, filling.

“Maker, I love you,” Evelyn sighs, pressing back against Cassandra’s hand. “I need – ”

Cassandra exhales deeply, scissoring her fingers a little on the next slide out. “Hard?” she asks.

Evelyn nods. “Please.”

Cassandra obliges, and Evelyn keeps her promise not to muffle her moans.

She is loud, uncommonly so, while Cassandra fucks her into her own little cot in the back of the armory. Evelyn looks divinely enchanting, writhing and moaning and pressing her hips back into Cassandra’s steady rocking, occasionally begging for a kiss or starting another string of curses in Tevene.

Cassandra leans closer, straddling Evelyn’s thigh as she licks into her lover’s open, gasping mouth; Evelyn’s thigh immediately slides up, allowing Cassandra some well-needed friction, and so they continue.

It’s all pleasure, high and maddening; Evelyn’s fingers in her hair, tugging on the short locks at the back of her neck while Cassandra twists her fingers up against that sweet little spot hidden away inside of her.

The pressure of Evelyn’s thigh sliding between her own legs sends jolts of pleasure up Cassandra’s spine as she rides it, muffling her own sighs of pleasure into Evelyn’s shoulder. Cassandra grinds against her, spreading her own slick over Evelyn’s thigh.

They kiss somewhere in-between, open-mouthed and messy, and the Mark on Evelyn’s left hand sparks again against Cassandra’s cheek. Cassandra kisses it slowly, letting the crackling magic lap at her lips, and Evelyn shivers.

“I don’t care what’s next,” she shudders, and Cassandra feels her clench around her fingers, “as long as we’re together.”

Longingly, Cassandra gazes into her lover’s bright eyes, slowly letting up her relentless rhythm. It’s easy to seek out Evelyn’s clit with the pad of her thumb, and she circles it gently.

Evelyn cries out, wound tight as a spring, and Cassandra becomes keenly aware of how far along she is herself. They’re slick with sweat, the both of them, panting and heaving with breath.

 _A fight, a dance, a battle_ , Cassandra thinks, _all is the same with my Lady Inquisitor._

“I am reaching my breaking point,” she tells Evelyn, out of breath and leaning her forehead against hers.

Evelyn laughs shakily. “You don’t say,” she jokes, biting her lip when Cassandra curls her fingers inside of her. “Fuck,” she adds for good measure when Cassandra circles her thumb against her a little harder.

Cassandra sighs, focusing on the feeling of Evelyn; drenched around her fingers, clenching and shuddering, her warm wetness eagerly welcoming Cassandra’s fingers. Their bodies plastered together on the small cot, Evelyn’s heart beating like a hummingbird against her own, and Evelyn’s wayward magic from the Mark sizzling over them both.

Evelyn’s thigh between her own, steadily rocking against Cassandra’s own heat.

Cassandra lets out a strangled groan, and then Evelyn is tugging her face towards hers.

The kiss she receives is surely the messiest one Evelyn’s ever given her, all shaking breaths and a clumsy tongue and lips that refuse to let go. Her teeth catch on Cassandra’s bottom lip, and she harshly grinds her hips against Cassandra’s.

“Cass,” she whispers, “Cass, I’m gonna – ”

This time, Cassandra gets to see her lover reach her peak.

She stiffens under Cassandra, luminous eyes slipping closed and her mouth going slack, and then she’s riding it out with desperate, shaky movements against Cassandra’s fingers and thigh. One of her hands is still in Cassandra’s hair, her fingers twitching against her skin.

Cassandra drinks it all in and thinks: _I did this. I made her this beautiful in this moment. Just for me._

And she’s never so selfishly wanted to grab a moment and make it all her own, but she does so now. Because it’s her name on that beautiful, curved mouth, and it’s her name that Evelyn’s body sings below her.

“Cassandra,” Evelyn says, reverently, “I love you.”

And then Cassandra sees stars beneath her eyelids, her fingers slowing inside of Evelyn has her own orgasm hits her harder than expected – makes her thighs quiver over Evelyn’s, her body shudder against her lover’s, and she holds her close, burying her face in her shoulder.

“Maker,” she gasps through it all, Evelyn’s hands gently cupping and petting her face while Cassandra rocks against her thigh.

It was never this easy, it was never this effortless – but with Evelyn, everything is.

On a deep, long sigh, Cassandra lets herself tip forward fully onto Evelyn, still shaking with the aftershocks.

Evelyn laughs, almost a giggle. “Oh come on, you,” she says, poking Cassandra into her side, “let’s switch places. You can lie down and I’ll lie on top of you.”

There’s a bit of shuffling around while Cassandra moves to lie down on the cot and kicks the blanket away; both of them are more than warm enough now, and nobody ever ventures into this part of the armory. (Especially not if they overheard any of the sounds.)

“We are going to defeat Corypheus,” Cassandra says, settling back against the mattress. She throws an arm over her face, chest still heaving but her breaths slowing. “Together,” she adds.

Evelyn grins as she settles in at Cassandra’s side, half on top of her. “I almost forgot what this was all about,” she says, sounding amused.

Cassandra groans. “I still cannot quite believe that _that_ is how this started,” she murmurs. “You are _very_ stubborn.”

Evelyn tugs Cassandra’s other arm around her shoulder, nestling her face against Cassandra’s chest. “Not unlike someone else I know,” she says a little pointedly. “But thank you for reminding me. I… I needed that today.”

Cassandra squeezes her arm around her. “I know,” she says. “I know. And I already told you…”

Their eyes meet, and Cassandra has never had more faith in someone than she does right now.

“There is not another woman I would be more proud to fight beside.”

Evelyn smiles, small and private, and there is a light sheen of wetness over the bright of her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> \- checked for mistakes, but it's a little late so i'll do another runthrough tomorrow!  
> \- had fun writing cass taking the lead this time around :)  
> \- took some dialogue snippets from the cass/m!inquisitor romance  
> \- hit me up [on tumblr](http://octobig.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
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> **Did you have a good time reading this fic? Please consider clicking the button & leaving kudos! I really appreciate it ♥**


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